


Five Times Spencer Thought Tattoos Were a Bad Idea (And One Time He Didn't)

by roebling



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling





	Five Times Spencer Thought Tattoos Were a Bad Idea (And One Time He Didn't)

I.

"That looks so fucking cool," Brendon said enviously, flattening out the crinkled copy of AP. Even though he'd been living on his own for four months, he still thought swearing like a sailor was like, a sign of maturity or something. Apparently it took longer than that to detox from a lifetime of Mormonism.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "It's dumb," he said. "Everyone who's in a band gets some stupid tattoo. It's so cliche." He'd been using the SAT flash cards his mom bought him and the practice was showing.

Brendon frowned and pressed an index finger against the glossy magazine page. The band on the cover were some up-and-comers who were playing Warped. The lead singer was covered in ink, gauged his ears, and had a green stripe in his hair. "That's not true," he said. "Maybe they just have things they want to remember."

"Everyone has things they want to remember," Spencer said, loftily. "That doesn't mean they get a tattoo of a naked lady on their arm. You know your parents would freak out if you ever did that."

"Yeah, yeah," Brendon said, sighing. "One day I'm gonna, Spence, and it's going to be something awesome."

Spencer rolled his eyes. It was pretty dumb to talk about about what tattoos you'd get when you were a famous rock star when the odds of being a famous anything were slim to none. "Yeah right. You'd probably get some stupid cartoon character. We're gonna have to force you to wear long sleeves on stage so we don't get laughed at."

Brendon cried out in mock rage and punched Spencer in the shoulder. It didn't really hurt, but in the scuffle the magazine was knocked to the ground and forgotten.

 

II.

The ink was dark against the pale, fragile skin of Ryan's wrists. The sharp-edged letters spelled out words that made Spencer uneasy. Ryan bent one hand back; the veins stood out blue-green in his wrist.

"They look awesome, right?" Ryan said, brushing dark, straight hair out of his eyes.

"Yeah, Ry," Spencer said. "They look great."

Ryan's arch smile suggested that he already knew that, thank you very much, and that Spencer's confirmation was just icing on the cake.

"I know getting lyrics tattooed is kind of gauche, but Tom Waits is the most talented working American songwriter."

Ryan made these kinds of pronouncements with increasing regularity. He was going through what Brendon and Spencer secretly called his 'Pitchfork phase'.

"I'm sure he'll appreciate the tribute," Spencer said.

Ryan glowered. "It's not funny," he said. "His words spoke to me, Spencer."

Spencer smirked. "I am totally gonna remind you of what you just said that the next time some girl shows you her I Write Sins tattoo and you give her stink eye."

"What?! I don't give fans the stink eye!" Ryan said, indignant.

"You definitely do," Spencer said. "I'm going to ask Zack to video tape the next meet & greet. You look at them like they're members of some alien species."

"It's not the same thing," Ryan said crossly. "Tom Waits is a legend."

Spencer thought it was actually exactly the same thing; hero worship was hero worship, whether your hero was an old dude who sang about whores and drunks in a voice that sounded like sandpaper or a scrawny emo kid who lived and died by his thesaurus. Really, he thought getting a tattoo of someone else's words was pretty fucking awful, but they weren't his wrists. Ryan could and usually did exactly as he pleased.

"Yeah," he said, blandly. "So how bad did it hurt?"

 

III.

Spencer woke startled when his phone rang late one night. It was a hotel night, and he was disoriented at first, not expecting clean, cool sheets, not expecting to hear Jon snoring in the other bed. He blinked and reached for his phone. He squinted at the number. Shit. It was Crystal.

He fumbled with the buttons to pick up the call, fingers clumsy and stiff. Jon turned over in his sleep. As he shut the bathroom door behind him Spencer answered the call with a frantic 'Hello? Hello?'

"Spencer," Crystal said.

"Oh my god," he said. "Crystal, what's wrong? Where are you? Do I need to come get you?"

She laughed, and he let out a long breath. She didn't sound hurt or scared.

"Calm down," she said. "Everything's cool. I just ... I wanted to ask your opinion about something."

"At one in the morning?" Spencer asked.

"You're on tour, Spence," she said. "I thought you would still be up snorting coke off some hooker's ass ..."

"You know that's not how it is," he said, grumpily. His little sister shouldn't even be thinking about things like that.

"I'm just messing with you," she said. "Listen, I want to ask you a question, and I want you to promise not to get mad."

"Crys, I don't know what you did but you know I love you no matter ..."

"It's nothing that bad," she said, laughing again. "I just ... I got a tattoo tonight."

Spencer made a choked noise. "What? You're only seventeen. How did you get a tattoo? Oh my god, you went to a professional, right? Those amateur places are hives of disease and filth. People get hepatitis and ..."

"Calm down," she said. "I ... uh, Jackie and I got fake IDs the last time we came and visited you in New York. The place I went to was totally legit."

Spencer was holding the phone so tight it hurt his hand. "You're expecting me to believe you found someone gullible enough to believe you're 21? And you let that person jab you over and over with needles?"

"Just because you looked like you were fifteen until last year doesn't mean all of us are late bloomers," she said. "Girls mature faster than boys anyway."

"I did not look like I was fifteen until last year!" Spencer's voice sounded kind of shrill. He was so tired that he was swaying back and forth on his feet. "Stop being such a punk." He took a deep breath. "Okay, so you got a tattoo from a licensed professional."

"Yeah."

"Of what?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"It's a globe, like the earth. On my hip."

"I was so worried you were going to say it was a pineapple on your back. Or like, the Chinese character for hooker on your chest."

"Jerk," Crys said. "I'm not some stupid bimbo. Anyway, I wanted to ask if you think I should tell Mom, but if you freaked out this bad telling her would be like the end of the world."

Spencer breathed in deeply. "You should tell her," he said in his most responsible big brother voice. "She's going to find out the next time you go to the pool. It'll be better if you just tell her."

"She's going to be pissed," Crys said, quietly. "You're pissed."

Spencer closed his eyes. "No," he said. "I just hope you didn't do something you're going to regret."

 

IV.

"It looks great, Bren," Jon said.

"Yeah," Ryan said, peering over the tops of his sunglasses. "It's nice, man."

Brendon beamed. "What do you think, Spence?" he said, holding out his arm at an awkward angle.

Spencer looked up. He blinked, groggily. "Yeah," he said. "Nice." He was still buzzed from the weed they'd smoked earlier. He felt like the air in the room was half solid.

Brendon pursed his lips. "Yeah," he said tiredly. "It's not like, the most unique thing ever, but I'm pretty happy with it."

"What are you gonna get next?" Jon asked.

Brendon shrugged. "I don't know, man. I'm just gonna wait for inspiration to strike me."

"I always wanted to get a tattoo of Clover's paw print," Jon said wistfully. "Cassie's not into it, though."

"That would be hysterical. You have to do it," Ryan said. "Where would you get it?"

Jon clasped his hands on his chest. "Right over my heart."

They all laughed. Jon and Ryan started proposing more and more ridiculous tattoos, Brendon egging them on. Spencer thought it was all stupid. Brendon's tattoo looked fine, sure, but one day he was going to wake up and look down and realize he had this fucking scribble on him he could never get off. Spencer didn't think he could ever deal with anything that permanent.

He stood, slowly, and headed back towards the bunks.

Brendon followed. "Spence, man, where are you going?"

"I'm kinda tired," he said, leaning heavily against the wall.

"Is everything okay?" Brendon asked. "You've been kind of out of it ..."

Spencer exhaled, noisily. "It's nothing," he said. "I just ... I've been fighting with Haley. I think we're going to break up."

Brendon's eyes widened. "What? She was just out here. You guys were fine."

"I know," Spencer said. He squeezed his eyes shut. "It's fine when she's here. It's all the other time that's the problem."

"Shit, Spence, I'm sorry," Brendon said quietly. Jon and Ryan's laughter carried in from the other room.

"It's okay," Spencer said. "I mean, it's the kind of thing you know will happen eventually."

When he looked up, Brendon was staring at him with strange intensity.

"Do you really believe that?" Brendon asked. "I mean, did you really think that you and Haley weren't going to last?"

Spencer shrugged. "That's how life is." He gestured vaguely with one hand. "That's why when you guys talk about tattoos and shit I have to laugh. There's never been anything in my whole life I've believed would last long enough that I'd want it on my body forever."

Brendon's eyes were opaque and half-lidded when he spoke. "That's fucking sad. That's really fucking sad, Spence." He reached out, like he wanted to take Spencer's hand or something, and then stopped, like he'd thought better. "I know the keyboard is kind of dumb, but even if the band breaks up and I become an accountant, I'm never going to regret it. Some day something is going to prove you wrong."

Spencer snorted. "I'm just being realistic," he said, but Brendon had already turned back towards the lounge. He looked too skinny these days. The back of his bowed neck was pale, so pale. Spencer wanted to call him back, wanted to apologize, even though he didn't know what he'd done wrong. Instead he rubbed his eyes and checked his phone. No new messages, not that he'd expected any. It would be at least a couple of days before Haley calmed down enough to be willing to talk. He could hear the others out in the lounge laughing. The thought of joining them was exhausting. He climbed into his bunk and drew the curtains closed and tried not to think about anything for the rest of the night.

 

V.

Pete's leg was surprisingly pale and surprisingly hairy.

"Yo, that is seriously creepy," Brendon said.

Pete grinned. "I know," he said. "It's awesome. It freaks the shit out of Gabe."

"It's freaking the shit out of me," Spencer said. "Look at those eyes. It's like he's watching us."

"It's the spirit of the Cobra watching over me," Pete said, barely able to keep a straight face.

"It's creepy Victorian man-child Gabe. He's going to be watching when you're naked. He's going to be watching when you're getting laid."

Pete blanched. "Ew, dude. I didn't think about it that way."

"Just get some knee socks," Brendon said. "Blindfold that sucker."

Pete grinned, white and brilliant, and slapped Brendon on the back. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around, Urie. See, Spence? Problem solved."

Spencer crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head, but his smile was fond. "You're both idiots," he said.

"And you love us," Brendon said, throwing his arms around Spencer in the way he often did, lately.

Yeah, Spencer thought. He did.

 

VI.

Brendon was grumpy. He was glad to play charity shows, always glad to be able to do good while doing what he loved, but he was still jet-lagged and he was pissed at Spencer for bailing on him. Even when he played acoustic, Spencer almost always came along to keep him company back stage and provide general moral support.

There wasn't really much that Brendon did without Spencer around, at this point.

Today, though, Spencer had begged off, claiming he had some errand to run. Brendon had frowned skeptically and pressed him for more information, but Spencer just shook his head and smiled in his frustrating, inscrutable way. He wouldn't say a word. Zack totally knew what was going on, but he was mum too. They were in cahoots, those two jerks. Brendon would have used his most advanced interrogation skills (there was little Spencer wouldn't fess up to when Brendon was sucking him off) but they'd had to leave for the show and there hadn't been time.

He was grumpy, but he was totally prepared to forgive Spencer once he found out what was going on. They were finally off tour, and they had a week together in Hawaii before they headed home. The hotel they were staying at was palatial, one of the nicest places they'd ever stayed. It was expensive, but the album had done better than anyone expected, and they deserved to indulge once in a while. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept as well as he had the night before, sprawled out on the king-size bed under 800 thread count sheets, one arm slung over Spencer's waist. They'd both been so exhausted they'd gone to bed basically as soon as they'd gotten their bags in the room. Brendon was looking forward to the chance to put the bed to other use.

But Spencer was still out when Brendon got back to the hotel. He stomped around for a few minutes, frowning, before giving it up. Whatever. Spencer better have a fucking good excuse for flaking out all day.

Brendon showered, using all the funny little bottles of soap and shit the hotel left and at least three towels. He pulled on some clean pajama pants and flipped through the room service menu. The food was all super expensive. Something inside of Brendon still recoiled at the prospect of paying fifteen bucks for a hamburger. They'd have to go to a store tomorrow and pick up some snacks to leave in the room. He rolled onto his belly and flipped on the television. Outside, the setting sun painted the sky tangerine. It was getting late. They'd both worked hard at trusting one another, but it was torture resisting the urge to text Spencer, to demand to know where he was.

He was almost asleep by the time the door opened.

"Hey," Spencer said. "How was the show?"

Brendon didn't look away from the television. "It was fine," he said, mildly. "How was your super secret day doing stuff without me?"

"It was fine," Spencer said. "I've got something to show you."

Brendon sat up slowly, rolling his shoulders. Spencer slowly took unzipped his hoodie, and pulled it off ...

"Holy shit," Brendon said. "Spencer Smith, what is that on your arm?"

Spencer grinned, so wide. Brendon's heart stuttered. He still couldn't get over how fucking happy Spencer was now, how happy he was just being with Brendon. Brendon was that happy too. "It's a tattoo. That's why I didn't go to the show today. Zack hooked me up with a guy he knows out here."

"Oh my God, come here and let me see it," Brendon said. Spencer sat down beside him on the bed, and Brendon grabbed one slim wrist. (He'd totally made fun of Spencer's girly wrists before, even though he thought that Spencer's arms and hands were really beautiful and graceful.) The dark whorls of ink circled Spencer's forearm, arching and curving waves that rose and crested. Navy and black and teal, the ink was vivid against his tan skin.

"It looks awesome," Brendon murmured.

"The guy was really talented," Spencer said. "Zack said he's usually booked solid with appointments for months. He only took me as a favor."

Brendon ran a fingertip down Spencer's arm. The tattoo was still shiny and there was a little blood that hadn't been wiped away, but fuck, it looked so hot, those lines etched across Spencer's forearm. "It's fucking hot," Brendon said. "But I don't get it. I thought you hated tattoos on principle."

Spencer smiled, and ducked his head so his hair fell in his face. He turned his arm over. Two figures were silhouetted in navy ink, just a shade darker than the water. One, if you looked closely, was just a little bigger than the other. Their arms reached out towards one another. Their hands met.

"Oh," Brendon said quietly. "Oh, Spence.

"You were right," Spencer said. "Someone did prove me wrong." He laced their fingers together. "I know what I want forever, now."


End file.
